Accidental Seduction
by lovebirds413
Summary: Sherlock is back home after dismantling Moriarty's web and he finally takes notice of his pathologist. *We know that this has been done before but hopefully this will be a fun addition to this couple.* It's T just in case.
1. Prologue

**A/N: This is our first story. Hope you all enjoy it! **

**It will be about three or four chapters. This prologue is a little short but the other chapters will be longer.**

**Accidental Seduction**

**By Christine and Coeli**

** Prologue**

Sherlock Holmes was bored. Even though he had been back from the dead for only two weeks, the novelty of being home was already beginning to wear off. John's initial angry reaction cooled off quickly and they both settled into a routine that was on one part familiar and on the other, odd. Sherlock thought it was suffocating.

John, it seemed, couldn't go twenty minutes without checking up on him. Even while working at the clinic he would send Sherlock text messages asking after his well being.

_How are you feeling?~JW_

_ You are still alive right; you didn't jump off any buildings?~JW_

_ Hello?~JW_

_ Good news, I saw a dog today.~JW_

To inane comments like these, Sherlock would eventually reply something to the likes of:

_Don't be boring.~SH_

Mrs. Hudson was no better. She would come up to the flat two or three times a day to bring food and fuss over him. "Death has done nothing for you my dear," she would say while trying to get him to eat a biscuit. "You are much too thin." She would puff around the place picking things up, making tea, all the while saying, "Not your housekeep, just this once."

Lestrade was no help at all in reliving the boredom. He was glad to have his consulting detective back and he did call Sherlock on every case. However not one of them ranked above a four which of course never required a removal from Baker Street.

They were hovering around him, afraid he would disappear again. It was annoying. And he was bored of it all.


	2. Chapter One

**A/N: Here is Chapter One! I hope it's as lighthearted as I meant it to be. :) Although it is probably obvious, the italicized words are either thoughts or text messages, which are always signed with ~and initials. On a side note, I am not British so please forgive any American phraseology or references. I tried to use the ones I know (such as "flat" instead of "apartment" and "mobile" instead of "cell"). Thank you to all who followed and favorited. A very special "Thank you!" to ****_Gumi Holmes Lupin_**** who gave me my very first review! **

**I do not own any of these characters...though I really wish I did. **

Accidental Seduction - Chapter One  
By Christine

_ "What do you need?" She looked at him without blinking, steadily focusing her entire being on bettering his welfare. But even so, he felt the need to test her. Moriarty's ploys were beginning to make him doubt not only himself but also those who had always expressed faith in him. He knew Lestrade was getting pressure from all sides; while Mrs. Hudson would be steadfast to the last she must be protected from whatever Moriarty planned to do and John…John would never lose faith. Sherlock felt that with a certainty he had never felt before. But he didn't want John to help, he couldn't have John help. John was the key to his whole plan; if John was involved then his plan would fail. _

_ With the exception of his brother this left only one other person to whom he could turn. While he did mean what he said, she did count and he did trust her, he did leave all his experiments in her lab after all, he knew he had to ask. He had to make sure that her faith in him hadn't wavered with everything that had happened. Taking a step forward, invading her space a little, he spoke with a seriousness that was graver than usual._

_ "If I wasn't everything that you think I am, everything that I think I am, would you still want to help me?" _

_ Her response was immediate. Without hesitation, never taking her eyes from his face she said again, "What do you need?" _

_ Though it didn't show in his face or posture, he felt instant relief that his trust in her hadn't been misplaced. It was like a weight he hadn't known existed was lifted from his mind; but that of course was too sentimental for him to dwell on. Instead he took another step forward noting her sharp intake of breath. Molly, star of the sea, his hope, and possibly, his conduit for salvation. He leaned down and whispered exactly what he needed._

_ "You."_

Sherlock's eyes shot open as his inhale of breath abruptly shut him out of his mind palace. Lounging on the sofa with his hands steepled under his chin, he surveyed the living room of 221B. It was mostly the same as it had been before he had died. Same books on the shelves, same table between the windows, same skull on the mantle, and same chairs in front of the fireplace; John's chair even still had that stupid flag pillow sitting lopsided on the seat. There was the smiley face on the wall though there were more bullet holes than he remembered previously. Perhaps he shot them in a fit of boredom and then deleted the memory of ever committing the act. It was quite possible and not at all improbable. He had been exceptionally bored this past month since he had settled into his routine of idleness in the flat.

He was only vaguely aware that he was comforted by this domestic consistency however he completely understood why he was uneasy. Molly Hooper.

It seemed that he couldn't think of anything that had happened these past years without recalling who had helped him be able to do it. Molly Hooper.

His mind continued to recall that night in the deserted laboratory where he outlined his plan to the one person who could make it happen. Molly Hooper.

The girl who counted; the girl who risked her career by claiming him as dead; the girl who risked her life so that he might save his friends; the girl he had yet to see since he had resurrected.

He knew that having asked for her help, and her having so willingly given it, that he should thank her. He thought that John would say his lack of verbal gratitude was "A bit not good." But he was grateful. Expressing it out loud was another thing entirely. Besides he would rather not think upon such a potentially emotionally charged topic that the expression of feelings could usually become. Instead he turned to his recent travels in his mind palace. Why he had gone to Molly's space in the first place he wasn't sure. There was something there however; something that he was certain would bring him back from his almost constant state of boredom.

Suddenly he jumped up from the sofa and with, an energy that those who had observed him recently would not have thought him capable of, he bustled through the flat gathering jacket, coat, scarf, and shoes. "An experiment John!" he cried to his absent flat mate. "An experiment of time!"

Bundling up against the cold, though it was more for looks than for the added warmth, the world's only consulting detective left Baker Street and turned his feet toward the walk to Saint Bart's.

* * *

John was not at the flat when Sherlock finally came out of his mind palace daze. Since Sherlock had returned, John had begun taking morning shifts at the clinic so if anything came up with Sherlock in the evenings he would be free to do it. Of course though for the past month Sherlock had refused to work on any of the cases with the New Scotland Yard. They weren't exciting enough for him. Apparently he had been off having unspeakable adventures while John was sitting in their flat mourning his death. But of course _John_ wasn't upset at all; while he was so happy to have his best friend back, Sherlock could sure be a prick when he felt like it.

Closing out his shift and trying to hail a cab John recalled the argument he had with Sherlock the night before.

_"You know Greg doesn't have to ask for your help? He did solve lots of crimes while you were gone," said John with a quirked eyebrow. "He just wants you to be part of the team again."_

_ "I don't do teams," was the petulant response._

_ "You don't _do _teams?!" John was incredulous. "What-" Sighing John shook his head._

_ "I work better alone. Alone protects me."_

_ John was well and truly angry now. He hadn't spent the last few years mourning his friend only to have him come back to life and want to be alone. "You of all people should know that it's friends who protect people. How long have you been out there fighting so you could protect your '_friends'_?" Sherlock just glared at him; so quietly he added, "You can't do it all by yourself you know."_

That was when John saw it. A look came across Sherlock's face when he said that; eyes looked down and to the left, eyebrows twisted into a frown, mouth parted slightly as if words might come out. If John didn't know any better he would have said it looked like guilt. Too quickly it was gone, in a matter of seconds Sherlock entered his mind palace and had been like that still when John left for work this morning. But John saw it – that look – and wondered what it meant.

It took four cabs until one stopped for him. Climbing in, he grumbled out "221 Baker Street." The cabbie expertly pulled into traffic and John closed his eyes, resting his head on the back of the seat. What was he to do with Sherlock? He couldn't get him to leave the flat and nothing Lestrade could come up with worked either. Of course he was bored but John couldn't make the criminal classes commit crimes at his will. John felt that there as something else bothering Sherlock though. There was something about that look that John couldn't place. Getting out his mobile – the same one that Harry had given him all those years ago – John texted his friend hoping that their argument had been forgotten.

_Do we need milk?~JW_

Not that John ever expected Sherlock to remember the mundane things like milk; he just wanted to reestablish communication. When he didn't get a response he tried again.

_Do we have a case?~JW_

Again nothing.

_Aren't you going to tell me I'm boring?~JW_

Again there was no response. Frustrated, he was just going to call when his mobile rang.

"John Watson," he answered.

"John, its Greg. I need to get a hold of Sherlock. There's been a murder."

"Good luck with that one. He hasn't answered any of my texts all day. Besides," John laughed, "Are you sure it's one he'll take?"

"He better," Lestrade grunted into the phone. "The Chief Superintendant is dead."

* * *

Sherlock stood at the doorway of Molly's lab watching her as she completed an autopsy, his pale eyes taking in every detail, logging it away. His experiment was to calculate how much a body can change over time when coupled with a severe emotional trauma. Since the old Molly constantly invaded his thoughts, why not do some comparisons to the present day Molly, and track the differences?

_Dark circles under the eyes and additional crow's feet: evidence of late nights and working with tired eyes._ As if to immediately prove his point Molly leaned toward her clipboard and squinted as she wrote down some final notes. Putting them aside, she began to clean up her table. His eyes followed her hands as she zipped the body bag back up and put the unfortunate soul away. _Movements are lethargic, must be overworked_. Darting his eyes back to her face he took in her pale skin and the absence of a smile. Her lips pressed in a thin straight line she grimaced as she put away the rest of her things. _No lipstick, mouth still too small_. Sitting down, she bent her head over her paperwork and her hair fell into her face. Without pausing in her writing she brought up a hand and tucked the loose strand behind her ear. Bending her head again the hair refused to stay in place and again she tucked it behind her ear only to have it fall out once more. She sighed in frustration. _Her hairstyle is bothering her. Perhaps I should secure it more firmly._

Sherlock paused at this last thought. Why should he want to fix Molly's hair? Before he could contemplate thought this his mobile rang. Glancing at the caller I.D. he answered.

"What John?" he said rather testily. He hated calls.

"Haven't you been getting my texts?" John's voice came gruffly into his ear. Glancing at his screen he saw that he had 5 unread text messages.

"No John, I've been quite busy with my work." Shouldn't John know that he'd be doing an experiment?

"Lestrade needs us, there's been a murder."

"How original."

"No Sherlock you're going to want this one. Meet us at St. Bart's; the body was brought there."

"Fine. It is fortuitous then that I am already here." Hanging up on his friend he looked up from his phone to see Molly looking intently at him. Seeing her face look back at him he realized what all his earlier deductions meant. _Molly Hooper is sad_.

* * *

**A/N: Molly is a pet name for Mary which means "Star of the Sea." In Catholic tradition, the title "Star of the Sea" is a symbol of hope and a bringer of salvation. I thought it was and an apt description of how I'm playing Molly to Sherlock in this story.**

**I promise I'll have Molly talk in the next chapter...Don't worry she won't be sad for too long!**


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N: Sorry it took so long to post this. I went on a date with the new guy and there were several days of confusion, staring at wall trying to decide if I liked him enough to go on a second one which turned out to be a moot point as he hasn't asked me for another one... That and my sister is getting married in 15 days and I'm leaving in 20 minutes for our bachalorette weekend. **

**A guest reviewer brought up the idea that Sherlock would have responded to John's text because he likes to get the last word...I do agree with that but I can remember many instances in the show where he wouldn't respond if he thought they were being boring or he just didn't know what to say (Irene Adler...). Also I did mean to say that Molly was on the Morgue not her lab. I originally had her in the lab but then I changed it and didn't edit that part. Sorry about that!**

**Thank you again to all who are reading this story! Knowing that you like it makes me smile and I hope that this update is just as good.**

**Again I own none of the characters...**

* * *

Chapter Two

by Christine

**CHIEF SUPERINTENDENT OF NSY FOUND DEAD IN HIS KENSINGTON HOME**

The front page of the evening Times caught John's attention as he walked past the sandwich place in front of 221. Grabbing a copy he went up the steps to the flat, exhausted after a full day at the clinic and then of Sherlock's antics at St. Bart's…

Once John had gotten to the morgue at St. Bart'sLestrade was already there reading through some paperwork._Probably some police report._ Sherlock was staring over Molly's shoulder as she prepared the body of the Superintendent. Apparently Lestrade had called ahead so Molly would be ready. _Greg knows not to keep Sherlock waiting if he wants any of his attention._ John smiled at the thought. Shaking his head he noticed that none of the people in the room had remarked on his entrance. Molly, it seemed, was so very concentrated on setting up the body that she jumped when John cleared his throat.

"Oh! Hello John," she said with a small smile in greeting.

"Molly," he nodded. "How've you—"

"John, you're finally here." Sherlock interrupted him with a frown never taking his eyes off the pathologist. Molly again was startled, like she hadn't realized how close Sherlock was behind her. Her smile left her face as she turned around to look up at him. John couldn't see her expression then but Sherlock's lost the frown and almost instantly became pensive like he was trying to figure out some puzzle. Rolling his eyes, John came further into the room asking Lestrade to get through the explanation of the Superintendent's death.

"Well we don't know much," intoned the exhausted detective. "He left his office early yesterday complaining of stomach cramps and vomiting."

"Like influenza. It is going 'round; several kids at the clinic came in today with it."

"Yes, exactly; just like the flu. Then when he didn't show up or phone this morning a car was dispatched to his house where he was found dead. You don't usually die of the flu; at least not these days."Lestrade sighed and rubbed a hand across his forehead. John made a mental note to make sure his friend got some sleep tonight. It was like a commanding officer had died, even if he hadn't liked the guy – he did chin him after all. However, John knew the kind of stress that could put on a person. "There were no signs of a struggle. No leads, no clues; nothing that pointed to an unnatural death."

"It was poison." Sherlock looked up from where he and Molly were examining the body.

"Sherlock, how do you know that?" John couldn't help asking. "You've only been looking at the body for a minute." Sherlock just gave him that Look and began to walk toward the door. "Oh no, don't you give me that," said John as he grabbed his friend's sleeve to stop him from leaving and fixing him with his best 'I'm soldier, you better listen to me' glare."You may know what happened but I don't."

Sherlock sighed. "It is the only probable solution." Shaking his arm free from John, Sherlock nodded to each of them, "Lestrade, John. Goodbye Molly." With his coat billowing out behind him he left the hospital with his three friends staring after him.

John shook his head to clear his memory of the day. Sherlock was so dramatic. After he had gone, John and Lestrade left to get a drink at the pub leaving Molly to do the autopsy,specifically searching for physical evidence from any kind of poison that would possibly give symptoms similar to the flu. Clutching the newspaper from the sandwich place in one hand and his jacket in the other John trudged up the stairs to 221B.

"John, dear, is that you?" Mrs. Hudson's voice made him pause. Turning around he smiled at his land lady as she came out of her room. "What can I do for you Mrs. Hudson?" Tired though he was, there was nothing that he wouldn't do for this lady. She was his lifeline when Sherlock was dead. Always there making sure he ate and slept. She fought against Mycroft's suggestion that he go back to his therapist. She was spot on with that. It seemed she usually was, even with all her "herbal soothers."

"Would you bring this up to Sherlock?" she said holding out a plate of biscuits. "He came in hours ago and has just been sitting there. I brought up a sandwich earlier but he hasn't touched it."

"He hasn't eaten anything at all?" John was again concerned for his friend. Taking the plate from Mrs. Hudson, he continued up the stairs. Glancing through the front room he saw Sherlock sitting in his chair, feet up with his hands wrapped around his knees, staring at nothing. Placing the plate of biscuits near him John moved on into the kitchen to make some tea. As soon as the kettle had boiled he heard Sherlock's deep voice come through the room.

"John, why did Molly smile at you?"

* * *

As Sherlock left St. Bart's he was glad, and not for the first time, that John hadn't followed him. He needed to think. He leaped into the first taxi,which had miraculously stopped for him without even having to lift his arm, and taking it back to Baker Street he sat in in his chair in deep contemplation. _Molly Hooper is sad. But she smiled at John so she can't be entirely unhappy. She even smiled at _Greg_ when he came. What kind of name is Greg anyway?_ Sherlock's mind commenced a replay of Molly's reactions since he had started his experiment on her.

She had seen him there in the morgue as soon as he had begun talking to John on the phone. Even though he had wanted more time to observe her, for his experiment of course, not that he wanted to look at her or anything,now that she had seen him however he stepped into through the doors into her space.

"Hello Molly." Her eyes went wide and she just stared at him; almost as if she didn't quite believe he was there. Smiling a little bit he continued, "You're wearing your hair differently. It suits your face quite well." Even though he knew it bothered her when it kept falling into her eyes, with her looking so earnestly at him he realized that it did look pretty. It was shorter and down, the soft layers framing the sides of her face.

"Sh-Sh-Sherlock?" Stuttering and self-conscious, she reached to tuck her hair behind her ears once more. When it fell out not two seconds later Sherlock again felt that he could make it stay back with more efficiency than she could._It would be more practical; however the way it falls is much more aesthetically pleasing._"What, what," closing her eyes and taking a deep breath she continued, "What are you doing here?"

_I'm doing an experiment and finding that time has not been completely kind to you. But then when is anything ever kind?_ "The Chief Superintendent is dead."

"Oh. Yes," she nodded turning her eyes to the stack of paperwork on her desk. "Greg phoned. I should be getting the body through receiving momentarily."

"I will wait here then." Molly looked at him funny at those words. With her brows furrowed and her eyes narrow her expression clearly asked: why? Sherlock refused to answer and leaned his tall frame against the body coolers. They waited for the body in silence. That is until Lestrade showed up.

"Molly," said Lestrade as he came hastening through the door. "Have you got the results from the Superintendent's autopsy? I need to give it to Sherlock to convince him to come." Lestrade sighed. "I need his help."

"There is no need for convincing. I am already here." Lestrade turned to see Sherlock by the coolers and smiled. "It's good to see you out of Baker Street, mate." Reaching his hand out the two friends shook on their meeting.

Molly had scurried out from behind the desk and handing Lestrade a file of paperwork smiled at him saying, "Here Greg, why don't you get started on these and I'll go check on receiving." Smiling again Molly turned and left the room.

_Greg?_ Sherlock's eyebrows shot up, first at the smile and then even more at the use of the first name. Looking back at Lestrade he noticed that the Inspector had already dived into the file without a thought to the smile the pathologist had given him. _Mouth was upturned at the corners but she didn't show her teeth. Not a complete smile. Still sad._ He was a little more satisfied with this thought and a few moments later Molly came back with two orderlies carrying in the body of the Chief Superintendent.

Knowing that John would soon be there Sherlock watched Molly to see her reaction to his entrance. The lies she had to tell would have affected him the most. Sherlock hypothesized that she would mostly likely be anxious and uncomfortable around him. _She has always been uncomfortable with untruths._ That was the reason Sherlock was upset when Molly also smiled at John when they greeted each other. At least that was the reason he told himself. _Why should she smile at John?_

As Lestrade began to detail the finding of the body Sherlock did a quick examination. He needed to leave; he needed to think. His experiment was not following what he thought should have happened. It was annoying. "It was poison," he had said in a break in Lestrade's monologue and popping his coat collar he made to leave. Having John stop him was not part of the plan. _I really need to think. I wish John wouldn't be so annoying. _ "It was the only probable solution," he said and saying goodbyes he left.

Sitting curled up in his chair in 221B he thought about Molly and his experiment. _How much time had it been that she would smile at John and Lestrade but not me? She always used to smile at me. I should ask John what this means._ Hearing his flatmate come home much later that night Sherlock watched him but stayed silent. _He brought me Mrs. Hudson's food; he's still trying to take care of me even though we were fighting._ Now was as good a time as any but he waited until the tea things were ready anyway.

"John, why did Molly smile at you?"

* * *

"What?" John really had no idea what Sherlock was talking about. Why did Molly smile at him? _What does that even mean?_ Carrying two cups of tea into the sitting area John handed one to Sherlock and took a seat. Sensing that he had no compulsion to restate the question John did for him. "Why did Molly smile at me?"

Sherlock gave him a look. "Yes John. It's not that hard of a question to answer. Molly smiled at you and Lestrade when she said hello." Then staring at him and speaking really slowly as if he were talking to an idiot he asked again. "Why did she do that?"

John really hadno answer. He didn't notice anything out of the ordinary in the way Molly was smiling. Molly always smiled when she greeted people. She was a friendly person. Why was Sherlock making this a big deal? "People usually smile when they are happy to see someone."

Sherlock looked back into space then and talking almost to himself, "But she shouldn't have been happy to see you. She had been lying to you for a long time. She should have been nervous and stuttering and _not_ smiling."

John then understood. Sherlock was upset because Molly didn't react the way he supposed she would. "Sherlock, Molly had no reason to be nervous or uncomfortable with me. Sure I was mad when I first found out that you had trusted her enough to help you instead of me. But I knew she would and I'm glad she did. Besides, she and I became friends while you were gone. Greg too. The three of us, and Mrs. Hudson, we needed each other. Why wouldn't Molly smile at me?" John sat back in his chair and drank his tea while he waited for Sherlock to process this piece of social interaction in silence. Understanding the intricacies of relationship, especially ones that really depended on the other person, were not Sherlock's strong points. John knew that Sherlock accepted that they existed – there wouldn't be nearly as many murders of John kills Jane because she left him if they didn't – but understanding how they worked or even why, those were feelings that Sherlock usually left alone. _So why is he digging them up now?_

Once John's tea was gone and Sherlock's cold he made his way to the kitchen, and putting his cup in the sink, he then moved towards the stairs. It wasn't until then that Sherlock spoke. "Molly smiled at you and," sneering the name slightly, "_Greg_ because she is your friend and was happy to see you."

John didn't feel that this needed answer so he continued up the stairs to his bed. He stopped when he thought he heard Sherlock's voice whisper, almost wistfully.

"But she didn't smile at me."

**A/N: Chapter Three will be up next week!**


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